Irene didn’t feel like herself—not at all. Hell, she didn’t even look like herself after the events of last night. Jericho had become ten times more protective of her, hovering like she might break at any moment, and she still couldn’t reach Madeline. She needed her, needed answers, but Madeline was nowhere to be found. Now, in her English class, the sense of being completely off-balance only deepened. It felt like the world around her was amplifying every sound. She could hear every hushed conversation, the constant chewing, and, disturbingly, the sharp scraping sound of metal—something she couldn’t place. It all piled on top of her, making the classroom feel suffocating. The noises drowned out what her teacher was saying, his words becoming a distant, unintelligible hum.
Her eyes darted around, searching for the source of the scraping sound, but it was like trying to catch smoke with her bare hands—it was everywhere and nowhere all at once. Her nails dug into her tights, the sensation grounding her only briefly before the chaos in her mind took over again.
“Irene, are you okay?” Her teacher’s voice cut through the haze. She turned to face him, but as she looked up, her heart stuttered. It wasn’t her teacher anymore. It was Alister, standing there, his face the same as her teacher’s, but everything about him felt wrong. His voice mimicked her teacher’s, but it was muffled—distant. The words were drowned by a heavy buzzing in her ears, and her chest tightened with terror. She could barely breathe as shock washed over her, her mind unable to make sense of what she was seeing. Irene’s body froze, her breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. “Are you alright?” her teacher asked again, but the words barely registered. Her vision blurred as panic overtook her, and without thinking, she bolted toward the door. She rushed out of the classroom and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She barely registered the click as she threw open one of the stalls, her hands trembling.
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She sank to her knees beside the toilet, her stomach churning violently. She barely had time to react before she was vomiting, the contents of her stomach splashing into the bowl. Tears streamed down her face as her body shook with disgust. When the nausea finally subsided, she hesitated, slowly looking down into the toilet. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw that the vomit was a thick, black liquid—something far more sinister than anything she had ever experienced.
Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open, and Irene’s heart skipped. Her eyes widened as she saw Alister’s polished dress shoes under the stall door. She froze as he walked toward her, the flickering of the overhead lights sending a cold shiver down her spine. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet as the light flickered again.
“Irene, are you okay?” His voice, though still familiar, had taken on an eerie, unsettling tone. Irene’s breath quickened. Her body stiffened, the anxiety pressing in on her.
“Do you want me to come in?” he asked, his voice dripping with false sympathy, sending a fresh wave of fear through her.
"Just leave me alone!" Irene whimpered, tears streaming down her face. She curled up, burying her face in her knees as she tried to block out the world around her.
“Irene, let me help you.” But this time, the voice wasn’t Alister’s. It was Phoebe’s—warm and reassuring.
Irene’s head snapped up, her eyes wild with disbelief. “Phoebe?” she asked, her voice shaky and strained.
“I’m here, Irene. Do you want me to take you to the nurse?” Phoebe’s voice was calm, grounding.
“Yes, please,” Irene answered, her voice cracking with helplessness. For the first time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone in this.